


Bubblegum

by Grey_Amethyst



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Awkward Sex, Banter, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 20:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11951631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grey_Amethyst/pseuds/Grey_Amethyst
Summary: Warren, having snuck into a lecture hall at midnight for very different purposes, ends up secretly watching Nathan Prescott and Evan Harris do something stupid and reckless.





	Bubblegum

**Author's Note:**

> No explanation, no excuses, just me, my bad sense of humor, and throwing a pairing I ship even though the characters have never once interacted in canon at the fandom while it's mostly dormant and no one's looking.
> 
> …I will say that I rediscovered this draft a few days ago and I _think_ I started it at 4AM after a drag show. 
> 
> If it shows up in the AO3 tag, my apologies to all grahamscott fans who were looking for mutual content of their ship and were forced to encounter this monstrosity instead.
> 
> Also…happy belated birthday, Nathan…?

Later, Warren remembers that he thought no one would think to break into Blackwell the week before midterms, let alone the renovated lecture hall.

Technically _he_ didn’t break in. Warren is known for staying late after school to study or help Ms. Grant prepare labs. But the afternoon before, Alyssa saw Logan throw Daniel’s sketchpad out into the rain, and she told Kate, who told Stella, who decided enough was enough and roped Warren into a revenge scheme that, somehow, he ended up being the only one to execute.

Which…okay. Well, Stella told him that the security would be lax tonight for whatever reason, so that’s enough, apparently.

Warren’s thinking is that the less time he spends in the halls, the better. The renovated lecture hall seems like the best place to prepare; Blackwell Academy’s class sizes are so small that Warren only knows where it is because of that game of ultimate hide-and-seek the Dungeon & Dragons club played with the drama geeks earlier in the semester. Now that the chairs are fully installed, with about half the rows draped with segments of cloth tarp to protect the wood backing and cozy cushions from the same kind of students who tore a sink off the wall in the guy’s dorms, it has better opportunities to hide in the darkness. The stage is vast and empty save for the fixed podium, and the door doesn’t have a window, making it the perfect place to do his work.

Warren assembles his device dutifully. When Logan opens his locker tomorrow – and hopefully tomorrow, because Warren isn’t entirely sure that Logan even goes to his locker that often considering that test grade Warren just saw on Ms. Grant’s desk – a bucket of goo is going to launch out at him. It’ll go everywhere, stain clothes, and won’t come out of hair without a hairdryer and about five hours of patience, but it’ll be awesome.

Hopefully.

…Logan will definitely be smacked by a bucket, at any rate.

Warren is fiddling with the spring tension when, between the tight creaks of the metal, he hears thumps down the hall. He pauses, listens harder, and finds a pattern among the sounds. Footsteps. Fast ones, by the sound of them.

Warren hisses out a swear and gathers his toolkit, hastily wraps his supplies in his other arm, and hurries to the back of the room. He shoves everything under one tarp, then crawls in after them, easing them closer to the wall while he’s left curled bug-like, arms and legs compacted underneath him, as far from the aisle as possible. On the way, his foot catches at the end of the step of this row more than once, nearly knocking his shoe off and down the steps. He realizes that the tarp isn’t continuous when his head raises just a bit too high and just barely manages to pull the gaping separation into a narrow slit when the door opens.

He holds his breath.

“C’mon, coast is clear.”

Warren doesn’t recognize the breathless voice teetering on the edge of a laugh, but he hears two sets of footsteps clatter inside, the door shutting, warm chuckles and clothes rustling. They’re guys, probably, judging by their low, rumbling whispers, and Warren’s first instinct to lean up and peak between the chairs and tarp to see who it is, but guilt weighs in his gut immediately and he stays stiff on the ground, frowning at remnants of sawdust scattered around his fingers, the steps underneath the chairs that are otherwise pristine.

They go to an art school, so guys hooking up isn’t a foreign concept, but if someone jumped out while _he_ was doing something like that, it’d be all he could think about for the next week. He’d be worried whether they’d tell and how everyone would react and—

He hears the wet sound of two mouths breaking apart, heavy breathing. One of them says, “You’re sure no one’s going to interrupt?” and Warren recognizes Evan Harris’s voice. A decent enough guy, but he reeks of the smart kid in class whose ego grew exponentially when his jaw and shoulders filled out and he figured out he looks more handsome in a hipster getup. Still, between telling Warren that Doctor Who is overrated while sipping coffee from his Sherlock mug, Evan is one of the few who can badmouth the Vortex Club – mostly the org itself since everyone on campus remembers what happened to that former member who tried spreading a rumor about Victoria – and get away with it.

Evan’s partner makes a soft, confused sound. Warren imagines him squinting out into the lecture room in the dark, maybe distracted by how close the body against him is. Then, “We’ve got time. Besides, this school’s in my fucking pocket anyway.”

Nathan Prescott.

Nathan fucking Prescott fucking… _fucking_ Evan Harris.

Warren, integrity be damned, leans up on his elbows to peek between the chairs. He can’t see much of anything from this angle, but then he can hear their bodies moving so he inches himself forward to get a better look.

Evan’s got Nathan pressed against the podium, one hand under his shirt and the other braced against the wooden surface. And it _is_ Nathan, auburn hair and blue eyes striking in the dark. An odd expression is bleeding all over his features when his mouth detaches from Evan’s here and there and they whisper to each other so low Warren cannot hear. His face is angular, but the line of his jaw is more solid when he’s pushing his face against Evan. _Kissing_.

Warren realizes, with an odd shock, that he has never seen Nathan this close to another person before. Hasn’t even _heard_ of him like this.

Nathan laughs, and that grin, free from cruelty or smugness, is a good look on him, Warren tells himself to justify not pressing himself flat against the ground again. “Weren’t you the one who said this was gonna be _stupid and reckless_?”

For once, Nathan Prescott’s obnoxious voice isn’t edged with that sharpness that makes Warren wince and share looks with his friends. And the lilt of it as he mimics Evan’s drawl expertly doesn’t suggest an after-school hookup kind of closeness, the way his impression folds into a chuckle as Evan – sans glasses, Warren notices smugly, because _of course_ that hipster wears glasses just for show – kisses his neck, smiling.

“I said that about breaking into school, specifically,” Evan says in almost a stage whisper. “You know, some people would break into the principal’s office to change their records or…”

“ _Or_?”

Warren thinks he sees him trying to hide a smirk. “We’ve got stupid down, so reckless comes next.”

“And the first thing you have in mind is fucking me in the lecture hall?”

Warren exhales shakily, desperately.

“It sounds so unsophisticated like that.”

“Okay, lemme be a little more professional. If you want to fuck me you need to bring that shit up like two to three business days in advance.”

Evan laughs, and Warren takes brief comfort in someone on this campus having a shittier sense of humor than him. Then he says, “That long?” and Warren lowers his head to hide a long, low sigh.

“Fuck you, shut up,” but Nathan’s voice rumbles with laughter and when Warren looks up he sees Nathan push at Evan playfully. “Fucking—I got _some_ standards.”

“That’s my line.”

“Mine now. I would’ve thought full-on banging in school was beneath you.”

Evan whispers something that Warren is very glad he cannot make out.

“I was thinking more like, y’know.” Nathan makes a quick gesture with his free hand – the other is smoothed across Evan’s lower back, Warren notices.

“We can do that.”

And—yep, that’s Evan making for Nathan’s belt. The silver buckle reflects light in Warren’s direction, and he ducks, mouth pressing into a cringing line. He hears pants shuffled down, shoes skidding against the ground as one of them loses their footing. Evan makes a soft, strangled noise, and then Nathan moans, deep and obscene.

Warren’s face burns.

“Yes,” Nathan groans, “fuck, _please_ , Evan—”

“Louder, no one in the dorms can hear you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Nathan replies, breath going shaky, pitching lower.

Warren, driven by his own fascination with horror movies and maybe some masochistic form of curiosity beyond the morbid, pushes himself upward again. He sees them, Nathan with his face speckled red, mouth hanging open, the swollen head of his cock sinking into Evan’s fist. From this angle, he notices that Nathan’s wrist is moving too, although he can’t see Evan’s expression.

But Warren doesn’t bother searching for it.

Nathan’s gaze flutters down, then up, eyes intense and half-lidded, hungry. He licks his reddening lips and angles his hips just so, rolling them forward with a hiss. Evan catches himself on the podium and twists his fist around Nathan’s cock, beading at the tip, and Nathan brings his legs further apart, jeans falling lower down his thighs to expose pale skin pulled taut over tensing muscle.

Warmth blooms low in Warren’s uneasy gut.

Evan, who seems to notice Nathan’s expression a little later than Warren does, falters. His hand moves from Nathan’s dick to his hip, and Warren chews on the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to squirm and wishing, against all reason, that Evan would just move his arm out of his line of sight. “Nathan,” Evan says.

“I wanna suck you off.” The way Nathan says it, all husky and serious, does perhaps the same thing to both Evan and Warren judging by the way Evan’s mouth falls open, chest rising on a sharp inhale. “Can I?”

“I—” Evan’s rasp breaks into a light hum. Nathan’s mouth curls into a wicked smirk, and Evan continues, “I was planning on going down on _you_.”

“Wait your fucking turn.”

Evan laughs, stroking up and down Nathan’s side, smooth waist to narrow hips to the wiry, sparse hair at his thighs.

Warren sees all that skin, the flat, almost hollow shape of his stomach, and, when Evan rubs his thumb at the peak of Nathan’s thigh, a glimpse of his erection at the cross of the V formed by his hipbones, the hair at the base that tapers to a trail upward. When Nathan’s being an asshole – his regular self, really – at a distance, Warren and his friends joke about him overcompensating for something, but his cock looks no different in size from Warren’s, maybe redder where Warren’s is dark—

… _Fuck_.

Warren shudders, realizes he can’t hold a position that keeps the weight off his stiffening dick, and tries to ignore the pressure building between his thighs.

“I owe you for last time,” Evan says, warmly.

Nathan’s mouth twists. He says something that Warren strains to hear. All he catches is _doesn’t have to be_ and whatever he says is next is enough for Evan to make a sound in protest.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just really want to right now.”

The tension in Nathan’s frown eases, and Warren realizes that was something like unhappiness in his eyes. A bizarre part of him wonders if he’s watching a…a _transaction_ , but then Nathan says, “I said it first,” all thick and stubborn and uniquely him.

“…I…kind of want to try out these flavored condoms I bought.”

Nathan stares at Evan. Warren blinks.

“There’s…a banana one?”

“Holy shit Evan. You’re really selling it.”

“Okay. I’ll concede that that’s not the best argument, but…” Evan rummages in his back pocket. Nathan keeps an eyebrow raised even while shivering with his dick out like that, and Warren’s so fixed on the tension in his inner thighs that it takes Nathan grimacing to notice that Evan has brought out a series of wrappers.

“Are you fucking serious?” Nathan grabs a few and shuffles through them, then scrunches his face up. “What the fuck kind of flavor is _soda_?”

“It was a variety pack.”

“ _You’re_ a variety pack.”

Warren looks on in disbelief. The flush in his cheeks is ebbing closer to secondhand embarrassment.

“Come on,” Evan says, and then he leans back in and kisses Nathan’s neck, lingers there to whisper, “I can do that thing you like when we get back.”

Nathan has his head tilted up, frowning, but his hands move up Evan’s back, rolling circles against the skin there as if by instinct. “Which thing?”

Warren catches _sent you a picture_. He sees Nathan’s throat roll, and Nathan grins, close-mouthed and indulgent.

“Fuck it. Bubblegum.”

“A wise choice.”

Nathan reaches down to stroke his cock as Evan tears open the wrapper; unlike Warren, he’s still very much hard after that exchange. It comes out blue, which both Nathan and Evan frown at, and Nathan reaches out to take it, but Evan presses just the tip of two fingers inside and moves for Nathan’s mouth. Nathan— _fuck_ —has his cheeks hollowed before he’s even got them between his lips, holding Evan’s stare. Warren sees his throat work, and Nathan snorts, then pulls away, covering his laughter with the back of his free hand. “Holy shit.”

“How is it?”

“Why don’t you try it out?” A pause. “No, I mean, like, taste it, make sure you’re cool with it.”

Evan darts his tongue out. “…That’s definitely bubblegum-favored.”

Nathan reaches out to act as leverage as Evan lowers himself to his knees. His eyes soften, head angling down, and if Warren looks, really looks, he can see a gentle kind of smile pull at his lips, his eyelashes cast blurry shadows over his cheekbones. He keeps his dick steady as Evan rolls the condom on, then Evan leans in and turns his head to lick a line up the underside of Nathan’s cock.

Warren’s dick swells again at Nathan’s guttural moan. He can feel his numbing legs tremble, and so rolls his hips back to ease the weight of his body there. The movement sends a flash of _want_ up into his head, makes spots spill across his vision.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Nathan breathes.

“Does it feel okay?” Evan asks. He’s got his hands under the hem of Nathan’s button-up, holding onto his narrow hips. Warren reaches down to adjust himself against the painful tightness at the front of his jeans and quickly realizes that’s a dangerous place for his hand to be. Nathan lowers his own hand to thread his fingers through Evan’s dark hair. He looks better with that softness in his face, Warren thinks, handsome, bordering on pretty.

“Yeah. Are you—I mean, your knees aren’t hurting, are they?”

“I’m fine.”

Nathan’s throat works, like he’s about to say something, but Evan moves forward, takes his cock in his mouth and Warren watches Nathan’s head tilt back, mouth hanging open, breathing in deep.

“Fuck…”

He looks back down, and Warren watches his shoulders roll under his shirt, his legs tremble, mouth catch on moans that leak through his teeth and lips. Sweat shines on his forehead; his hair is coming undone, curling out of place. Warren sees, he sees Nathan’s hand catch in Evan’s hair but it’s not quite long enough to grip, but he can tell, now, that Nathan’s certainly is. For a second Warren imagines it, positions switched, Nathan with his stubborn blue eyes glaring up as Warren knocks his curls loose between his fingers—

Oh no. _No._

…Warren, bound by a newfound determination, forces his hips still even when he can feel his balls start to ache.

Nathan’s expression shifts, eyes widening, and Warren thinks, for a second, that amid the soft sucking sounds Evan has perhaps scraped his teeth against the latex or something when Nathan exhales, loudly, then bursts out laughing when Evan tilts his head up. Evan lifts himself from Nathan’s cock with a wet popping sound, but before he can say anything Nathan says, “Fuck, my bad, I just—” he snorts, then shakes his head. “…My dick is _blue_.”

“Nathan.”

“I know, I know.” He’s still giggling, though, shoulders shaking and teeth peeking through his wide grin. He moves his hands to stroke at what parts of Evan’s shoulders he can reach without bending his back, set firmly against the podium. “My bad.”

Evan says something that travels as a bare rumble to Warren’s position. He gets back to it but not before Nathan’s eyes warm and his face breaks open with fondness.

“You’re one to talk,” Nathan says, but his hand goes through Evan’s hair again. Gently.

It takes longer than Warren’s used to seeing in movies or videos he watches with headphones on and the volume low. He watches Nathan bite his lip, rock his hips in slow, shallow movements, adjust his footing and gasp when Evan’s head goes as far as it can go. He reaches up to wipe his hair back and more of it topples down as far as his eyes. On his knees, Evan adjusts himself and reaches down, and Nathan _whines_ , eyes widening as his gaze locks onto the movement of Evan’s hand, bringing his fist up to bite down on his knuckles.

He hears it, sees Nathan go red, hands shaking, and then shiver, full-bodied and quick. Evan pulls away and tugs at Nathan’s wet cock a few times, then gasps, hips bucking forward.

Warren’s legs are struck with pins and needles. He tucks his head down again and reaches down, carefully, to squeeze at himself until it hurts and the ache between his thighs dims with more disappointment than desire.

He ignores the wet spot at the front of his underwear.

“Hey, do you need…?”

“No, I…”

“…Oh.”

Warren hears the jingle of a belt, then Nathan lowering himself. He’s got his mouth twisted until he hears another set of jeans zipping up, fabric dragging back and forth on the floor. Warren frowns and lifts his head once more.

Nathan’s got a handkerchief in his fist. He’s wiping up the floor, and Evan, angled toward the door now, is tucking his own shirt in—

Well so much for preparing Stella’s revenge prank.

And now, finally, outrage starts to crawl up his now sore back, first for the knowledge that he’ll never be able to sit in this lecture hall without thinking about the unspoken atrocity that has happened here, and second for those lingering glances Nathan keeps giving Evan between the curls of his bangs.

…It’s still a nice look on him. But when Evan looks up, it’s gone, and a small smirk cuts up his face. “You really couldn’t’ve waited?”

“No.” Evan leans in, kisses Nathan on the cheek now, and it’s impossible to ignore how Nathan glances aside, lets the corners of his lips fall. “I could _feel_ you moaning from down here,” Evan says, and Nathan raises his eyebrows, pulling away.

“Okay, don’t flatter yourself.” He moves to stand, and Evan follows. “Holy shit, how are your knees not hurting?”

“I’ve got more experience.”

“Shut up,” Nathan says, but he does go a bit pink. He grimaces down at his handkerchief and pockets it, then cringes. “I just _touched_ it again.”

“It was only in my mouth, calm down.”

Nathan shoves at Evan for that, and Evan laughs, making for the door. At his back, Nathan’s expression goes soft again, the space between his brows creasing. In all the new looks Warren has seen on Nathan tonight, this is one he knows without doubt that no one is supposed to see, and a glut of shame and something almost like sadness rises in his throat.

Evan looks back, opening the door, and Nathan is smiling again, breathing out a soft laugh beside a barbless jab as they leave the room.

The door creaks shut. Their footsteps fade to silence.

Warren finally, _finally_ crawls backward out from under the tarp, like a rat. Or a roach.

He feels like one, anyway.

He gathers up his things and plods to the front of the room, carefully avoiding what he tries very hard not to think of as the splash zone. He glances back to his hiding spot. Encased in the dark, he imagines someone would have to be looking for him to spot him.

At this point, he’d risk getting caught by those two for a chance to leave this room. He wonders what kind of look Nathan will give him if he throws that question back – _I always stay late, what are **you** doing here_? – but that almost wistful expression clings to him. Maybe there’s more to Nathan than a bad attitude.

Maybe there’s more to what he just saw than anyone, even either of those two, will ever know.

He can’t be certain, and thinking about it makes something in his chest twist anyway.

Warren bites the inside of his cheek and shoulders the door open.

One thing he does know is that Nathan Prescott will kill him if he ever finds out.


End file.
